


Saving Face

by worstcommander



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstcommander/pseuds/worstcommander
Summary: Josephine is bored; Isabela is intrigued, and Yvette has caused less trouble than could be possibly hoped.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustJasper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta, commanderlurker

"Admiral Isabela!"

Her voice, owing at once to intense training and natural gift, rang out across the bustling docks. Heads turned, puffed merchants and stooping shoremen, pompous port officials and leave-bound sailors alike. She could feel their eyes, a hundred and again paired, rising in the back of her neck.

House Montilyet stood fast, braced against the gentle sway of the docks underfoot. Head high and gaze hard - she knew without an eye to it that there was a tilt, an angle that transformed her, sharp cheek and brow and proud nose in the waning light of late afternoon. A hawk, perhaps, keen eyes flashing at prey below.

Within, Josephine nearly vibrated with excitement. Finally, after months of mundane trade agreements and shipping contracts, she'd gotten something worth sinking her teeth into.

Certainly the success of the Inquisition and its subsequent victorious dissolution had been a boon. The reinstatement of her house, the solidification of its legacy for years to come - it was everything she'd worked for, wasn't it? A world saved and a house as well, more than enough for any clever House Matriarch to lay her head on a bed of silk most satisfied.

 _Oh_ , but she missed it. It stirred a shame in her, as she poured over shipping contracts and permit applications. The world had been ending, but for a few short years she'd carried that doomed world in her satchel as she bustled along the hallways of Skyhold. She'd secured peace in the Free Marches, negotiated with the Carta, received aid from the Dalish, learned Qunlat from Tal'Vashoth mercenaries and even drafted the document that ended the Orlesian civil war.

House above all, that was it. As the head of her house, she should be quite content in the hush that spread across southern Thedas, heedless of the strife in the Northern reaches.

A hawk-angled stare at the woman who grinned above her, and she knew she'd just been waiting for a real challenger.

The Admiral pointedly ignored her. From the base of the gangplank she was only a bit of feather, bobbing along atop a truly impressive hat, but the feather managed to be as disdainful in habit as any nodding auntie.

"Admiral Isabela! House Montilyet comes bearing terms for the release of our daughter Yvette! You will hear our petition!"

"Oh, I will?"

Josephine cast a meaningful glance down the hull of the Admiral's ship.

"Any foreign vessel that raises the suspicions of a registered Antivan trading house may be subject to," she straightened, rustling her skirts, "Enhanced cargo inspections."

"Well, I wouldn't dream of raising any suspicions," Isabela drawled. She raised her hand, and out of the corner of her eye, Josephine noticed a relaxation in the crowd of deckhands around her. 

There it was, that thrill. The one that no commodity trade could echo, that solid weight of a cause that _mattered_.

Isabela flicked a hand, imperious. "Bring her to my quarters."

The commanding officer's quarters were warm but dim, lit by shuttered oil lamps that guttered and popped. Isabela rose out of the darkness as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, curves rising above the shadowed plain of her cubicle. She stretched in the lamplight, muscles twisting under the generous lines of sturdy cotton, smooth skin and healthy fat.

"About Yvette, you know, of course…"

"That she's holed up in the Blue Quarter? Yes. I have… other sources." 

Isabela laughed, delighted. "Oh, I figured you out, darling," she said. "You want something you can't admit to!"

Her finger trailed down the valley of her chest, the layers and frills of starched cloth parting and sweeping back in waves along its length.

"You must have some other terms, _House Montilyet_."

Josephine leaned up above her, her knees bracketing Isabela's on either side. Close, so close, she leaned her lips into the perfect cove of Isabela's ear, a swoop of thick black hair peeking out from her weathered blue head scarf. "Reports from Seheron," she whispered.

"You know that's where we were heading. Good scores in a war." Isabela shifted below her. "Your Inquisition lot can't be seen there, then?"

Josephine didn't reply, only ground her hips down into the cradle of Isabela's lap. The admiral's hands skimmed up her legs until they hit the resistance of the leather straps encircling her thighs.

"You perfect girl, you didn't." Isabela traced the edges of the harness strapped securely around Josephine's hips. "Should we seal that contract then?"

For a moment, Josephine broke the mood, straining towards Isabela's parted mouth. They came together, lush lips and tongues tangling.

"Perfect," repeated Isabela.

She tugged at the laces of her tunic, parting the cotton cloth to reveal a simple, sturdy breastband. Josephine's fingers, too, had been hard at work, uncovering something far less practical. Isabela traced along the scalloped edges of Orlesian lace, eyes hooded and dark as she murmured her appreciation.

"Pretty thing."

The breastband was removed without care, tossed on the floor to join her tunic, but Isabela took her time with Josephine's bindings. Each measure of skin revealed earned a soft brush of lips, a careful sweep of blunt fingers across her ribs, and soon the garment pulled free. Not to be discarded, then, like the breastband, but treasured, Isabela's rough hands carefully folding the silk and ribbons, setting it aside.

Suddenly it was too hot in the close confines of the captain's cabin, stifling, as if the lust between them were rising, swelling to push insistent against her skin. Unbearable. Josephine loosened the sash of her long skirt, fumbling at the intricate knots before the once-artful silken drape crumpled to the floor at her feet. Naked, now, save for the leather harness and the heeled boots she'd chosen to brave the busy docks that morning. Josephine bent to unlace them, but Isabela's hand stopped her, soft yet quite firm.

"Leave them on, I think."

Her own boots now framed the bed, tawny legs spread wide across it as she leaned up on her elbows. Efficiency seemed Isabela's preference - her short trousers and her smalls still wound around one ankle, too unimportant to warrant even a kick to dislodge them. Her fingers moved languidly between her lower lips, brushing through the thick patch of dark curls as she delved deeper. Even in the lamplight, Josephine could see the glistening wetness on her slick fingers, and the sounds they made - little wet waves, placid ripples, echoing the swells that gently rocked the ship around them. It brought an echoing burst of warmth and wetness between her own thighs, a swell and a fullness that pulsed along with the sound of the ocean beneath her.

Josephine leaned over the bed and groped blindly for her satchel. The polished wooden phallus had shifted to the bottom, finally snagged by her questing fingers. She fitted it into the front pouch of her harness.

"Oil," Josephine gasped, "I should fetch the-"

Whatever would have followed was swallowed in her moan as Isabela, patience absent, slid her lips down the smooth, polished surface of her phallus. Josephine stared, transfixed, as Isabela bobbed up and down. Her hand found its way to the back of Isabela's neck, fingers twisting in her thick hair.

She pulled away then, the debauched pirate. Her cheeks were dark, lips full and breasts peaked at the lazy pleasure that suffused them both. The roll onto her stomach was languid, liquid, the warm light of the oil lanterns catching the strong line of her shoulders, the lush expanse of her hips.

She reached her arms up, skimming her fingertips up the backs of her thighs before settling at the generous curve of her arse. Parting her cheeks, she cast a glance over her shoulder at the woman behind her.

"Seal the contract then?"

Josephine slicked herself up Isabela's cleft a few times, then pushed in. Slowly, at first, smooth short rocks of her hips the first few times. Oh, but she was loose, wet and open and ready to take her in deeper.

Isabela writhed under her, her back arching like a cloth of gold under the furrows of the fingers that grasped her hips. Josephine found her rhythm, short quick circles that dragged against that very perfect spot within Isabela, the cadence that made her rock and beg, gasping her desperate pleasure.

Isabela grabbed both of Josephine’s hips and held her inside while she came, loudly, pulsing waves lapping up the shaft.

Isabela rolled them over in a giggling, horny haze, then shoved her hand beneath the harness. She worked Josephine's slick, swollen wetness with one energetic finger until she came.

After, as they twined close on the limited space of the captain's nook, Isabela reached up and pulled the admiral's cap off her bedframe. She settled it on Josephine's head, as the woman burrowed closer to her side.

"You know… we don't raise anchor for another week."

"Is that so?"

"Mmm."

"You will of course have heard of the grain shortage in Starkhaven."

Josephine found herself upended, Isabela above her. Heavy breasts, pressing warm and yielding against her own.

"Why, House Montilyet," Isabela purred, "Are you proposing we discuss terms?"


End file.
